


The last of the de Rolo's

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cassandra de Rolo Needs a Hug, Gen, Post-Episode: Dalen's Closet, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, Whitestone (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25643572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: The de Rolo's live as long as Whitestone lives, but maybe the de Rolo's no longer have to live on the continued existence of a town that was ruined and rebuilt and rebuilt again, and maybe they can depend on the next generation like regular folk. It had always seemed too good to be true, before. But now... maybe little Vesper is the key to a long and happy lineage.
Relationships: Cassandra de Rolo & Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	The last of the de Rolo's

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-watching the Dalens Closet/ Royal Destination Wedding one-shot just because I missed by bad-asses being bad-ass, and this line really stuck with me this time? The last of the de Rolo's? I had to make a fic about it. I just had to! And also, Cassandra might be my favourite NPC in the whole first campaign, and I just need more of her in my life. It's been a while since I've written the Vox Machina crew! I've missed it. Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it!!

Dressed in her favourite deep blue gown with the long velvet sleeves with white lace and large buttons and a comfortable bodice, which was rare in these sorts of formal attire, Cassandra stood on the balcony of the western tower, overlooking all of Whitestone.

It was snowing. Not a rarity in these parts, and especially not in winter, but it was one of the first times that Cassandra has had the opportunity to watch the softly falling snow as it settled across rooftops and filled front yards where children could run and play and throw snowballs at each other. She couldn’t help but wonder what that was like. She’d never had the chance to be that kind of child, preferring to stay within the solid walls of the castle, spending precious time buried in books within the library. And then, when she was old enough to appreciate the simple things in life, her childhood had been ripped away from her with blood and screams and pain, and she was forced to navigate the rest of her life alone and afraid and a fraction of who she was.

But she was no longer alone, she reminded herself as her niece made a soft sound and wiggled in her arms, wrapped in so many warm, woollen clothes and swaddled in more blankets than she could count. Probably more than was necessary, but Cassandra had never been a mother, probably never would be, and had no idea what infants needed. Grog had been insistent, however, that she didn’t leave the castle without at least three layers which he had carefully picked out himself, and she didn’t have the heart or the courage to disagree with him. Pike had merely smiled at her sympathetically, and ushered her out the door before Grog could get overwhelmed by the vast selection of tiny baby booties.

“Look, Vesper,” she smiled down at the little bundle in her arms, all flushed pink skin and bright eyes and big lips. Her ears were vaguely pointed, and her hair was raven dark. She reached down and scooped a handful of snow from where it had settled on the balcony. “Snow. Have you ever seen snow?”

She held the snow to Vesper’s face, ignoring the way some of it melted and dripped between her fingers, and watched as Vesper brought her tiny face closer, giggling when her nose and chin made a dent in the snow. Laughing, Cassandra shook her hand out, letting the sloppy remains fall to the floor. “I can see it now,” she said, already envisioning the future. “You’ll be the opposite of my brother. You’ll enjoy the snow. Like your mother, frolicking in the wild. I can imagine you riding that big, smelly bear all around town. Although, if your mother ever heard me calling her bear 'smelly', she would have my hide. But you won’t tell, will you dear?”

Vesper cooed. Looking at her, she did sort of look like paintings of her sister did, days long ago, happier days, livelier days. She had her nose, and she could imagine her growing up to be just as proud and brave and amazing as her sister was. “I promise you, my dear, that I’ll ensure you’ll have a better childhood than we ever did. You won’t turn out as grumpy and cynical as your father, I promise you now.”

She received no answer from the child in her arms but heard the unmistakable sound of boots scraping on the stonework behind her. She needn’t worry- there were two guards stationed at either end of the balcony, hands on their sword hilts and heads on a swivel, and Cassandra was forced to learn long ago that she could take care of herself. “If I recall correctly, my dear sister, I was not the only one in the family who could be considered grumpy and cynical,” Percy teased with a smile as he joined Cassandra at the balcony. “I assumed she’d be out here with you. Grog nearly had a mental breakdown when I asked about her, and it took everything in Pike’s power to calm him down. I didn’t manage to get an answer out of either of them.” He wore a coat the same colour and style as the one he usually wore, the one he wore during the many battles with Vox Machina, the one that had been covered in much blood over the years it was impossible to fully clean out, but this one was coated with fur on the inside, and the sleeves rounded out to a soft, woollen peak. She reached out and ran her hand down the lapel, unfolding it from where it had been hastily folded inwards. “Ah, yes, this coat is quite a blessing in the colder months. I never did thank you for having it commissioned for me.”

“Well, considering you returned from Pandemonium looking like hell incarnate, I thought it was only fitting to replace the one you lost,” Cassandra remembered the day clearly, and still wished he had stayed still long enough for her to enlist the aid of one of the many artists in town. “One sleeve? No pockets? Torn to shreds? You were a mess!”

“No more than usual, I’m sure,” he said lightly. He turned to Vesper and ran a hand down her soft cheek, and she made gurgling noises at him and tried to wrap her tiny hands around his finger. “Hello, dear. Your mother's in the woods again, isn’t she? I’m sure she’ll return soon,”

“Would you like to hold her?” Cassandra asked awkwardly, shifting and holding her out so Percy could lift her in his arms if he so wished.

“Oh, no,” Percy shook his head. “You’re doing a wonderful job. You’re a natural."

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Cassandra laughed, pulling her back to hold her against her chest. “This is the first baby I’ve ever held.”

“Like I said, a natural.”

Smiling, Cassandra glanced down to look again at Vesper as she wiggled in her grasp and reached to wrap her slow fingers around the strands of her hair that had long since fallen from the messy bun she had tied it in this morning. Nobody would see her today, anyway. It was too cold for visits to the castle, and everyone that already resided in the castle had seen her in way worse condition than with messy hair. “Why did you name her Vesper?” the question surprised even her, but she kept her gaze fixed entirely on her niece’s bright blue eyes.

“Vesper, after our sister,” he replied. “Elaina after Vex’s mother. I thought that it was important to remember those who we have lost, whether it be from giant red dragons or romantic murdering vampires. And I couldn’t name her after you. That would make you her favourite instantly, and I couldn’t have that.”

“But why Vesper? Why not name her after Whitney, or after mother?”

“My intention is to have enough children to give them all at least one of our sibling’s names each. If our next child is a girl, we shall call her Whitney.”

“And if that child is a boy?”

The question stung, and Cassandra felt the pain as she stared back at Vesper. She looked like him, and she was more like him than either of her parents would admit. Even the way she pulled at her hair and clung to her buttons was like him. But she wanted to hear Percy say it. His name was not said enough around here these days, and Cassandra thought that was a disservice to the man who had helped free her home from the Briarwood’s and kept her brother safe while they were off on their dangerous adventures.

When Percy took too long to answer, she pulled her eyes away from Vesper’s cherubic features to face him. His expression was neutral, and the light bounced off the snow on the balcony and reflected in his glasses, so she couldn’t tell what he was hiding behind that wall, but she knew him well enough by now to understand it. “If it's a boy, we’ll name him Vax, after the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

Nodding, Cassandra turned back to gaze at the town. “I know that you never want my opinion, but I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Percy’s voice was tight, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m quite impartial to it myself.”

When Vesper cooed again, making soft squealing sounds and kicking her legs under the banket Cassandra had her wrapped in, the sudden hardness to Percy’s exterior melted and he looked fondly down upon her as she made headway in shoving her entire fist in her mouth, dripping saliva down her wrist. He reached down and ran the back of his finger down her arm, and tweaked the tip of her ear. They would get more pointed as she grew, not exponentially so but enough, but now they looked like Percy’s ears with the fainted peak.

Whitestone was quiet. Subdued. People still went about their business and carried on with their daily lives, but the snow had settled something over the town. Maybe it was a memory of long ago when dark clouds still blocked out the sky and the residents still lived in fear? Or, maybe it was just the simple fact that nobody liked the cold and the added inconvenience of heavy snowfall was just making them all the more grumpy, and she was reading too far into it. She tended to do that, sometimes. It had taken her a long while to teach herself that not everything had to be related back to the Briarwoods. 

Children played in the snow, giggling and squealing and spreading joy to passersby as adults made snowballs to chuck back at them and elderly couples walking the streets helped the children collect items to build their snowmen, or teens taught toddlers to make snow angels. It was nothing you would have seen back then, back when the castle halls still reeked with the stench of blood and the Briarwoods ruled from their obsidian perch.

Beside her, Percy watched the town just as she did, and there was something ancient to the balance of his shoulders, something tired and permanent and weary, but his eyes twinkled with something akin to pride, and the smallest of smiles curled at the corners of his lips. Vesper smacked her lips together as she wiggled in her arms. “Did you ever think that this would be possible, Percival?”

“Hm?’ He turned his gaze to her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“That we would be the last of the de Rolo’s?” she said, “And that any would come after us? That you would have a child to carry on our legacy? That the de Rolo linage wouldn’t end with us?”

Percy was silent for a moment, before he shifted closer and slowly, awkwardly, put his arm around her shoulders. She tried not to stiffen at the odd contact. They had never been a particularly touchy family, even before most of them were slaughtered. “The de Rolo’s live as long as Whitestone lives. You and I are alive, and we will always live. As long as the castle stands, and the town thrives, and people live in the houses they have built. We will never end. And now, with Vesper, I hope that becomes even more of a reality.”

“Do you think she will follow in your footsteps?” She asked. “Being an adventurer, saving lives? A hero?”

“I certainly hope not,” Percy chucked. “Nothing good comes to those who try to be heroes. Nothing that I would want for my daughter, anyway. But I know, realistically, that there would be nothing I could do to stop her if she wanted to.”

“I barely recognise it, Percival,” Cassandra returned her attention to the town and the building laughter that reached her ears. Someone was playing music. She suspected it might be Scanlan and his daughter, who were never too far away from the fun. “Do you think they would have been proud? Mother and father? Everyone else?”

To list their names would be too long. They lost every one back then, and their names didn’t need to be said in a poultry list of the dead. “Of you? Absolutely. I know I am.”

That wasn’t the question she had asked, and they both knew it, but she was willing to leave it for now. That was a discussion for another day. A warmer day, with lots of alcohol and food in their bellies.

There was a caw from above them, and Percy instinctually thrust his arm out as a sleek black raven landed on his outstretched arm. It shifted, it’s feet clinging to the fabric of his winter coat, it’s wings folded back against its body. It cawed again, instantly, as if trying to get his attention. “Ah,” Percy said with a smile. “I do believe that Keyleth as arrived. I’ll go down and meet her.”

“Do you want to take Vesper?” Cassandra asked, offering her again.

Percy just shook his head, a smile on his face. “I think you’re rather good with her. She likes you, which is more than I can say for most people. Just go inside where it’s warm- it’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

“You’re obnoxious,” Cassandra called to him as he walked away.

“True, but I’m also _right_ ,” he replied, and she couldn’t really argue with him.

She turned back to the town. The last of the de Rolo’s. Percival and Cassandra. And little baby Vesper. She could live with that.

Vesper made a final sound as Cassandra returned to the warmth and safety of the castle and Vesper finally fell asleep in the safety of her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I really like the idea of Percy not really worrying about his daughter? like, sure, he and Vex are both very protective and love her and worry about her wellbeing constantly, but as far as her whereabouts in Whitestone? You would have to be very stupid to get through a) The Grand Pooba who will take joy in ripping your eyeballs from your skull, b) the badass level 20 druid, leader of the Ashari who has anger issues and has lost too many people already, c) the sacred chosen of Sarenray who looks sweet and innocent but would love to fuck your shit up, d) a GIANT FUCKING BEAR, e) the bard who taught Vecna counterspell and would turn you to ash for touching his dead best friends niece, f) a pretty boy in sparkly armour and whatever weapon he wants and a giant fucking robot that can punch you into next week. Like, sure they've been through a lot and have learned a lot of lessons, but Percy knows that Vox Machina is very skilled at looking after their own and that his daughter couldn't be in better hands.


End file.
